A Temple on the Hillside
by Lumos-Graystripe
Summary: A Percabeth one-shot set in ancient Greece. Annabeth prays for a chance to prove herself in a man's world. Percy prays in hopes of finding a family. Both of them find what they are looking for.


It came back in flashes

They were young. He watched her family's shop from across the street as a group of older boys approached. Her father's eyes widened as one of the boys casually pointed a knife at his only child, eight year old Annabeth. Annabeth's father reached toward the pouch of coins that lay next to him with trembling hands, all the money they had. Annabeth's hand shot out, twisting the wrist of the boy in front of her so that he dropped the knife. He watched as she grabbed it.

The boys left with scarlet slashes across their calves. No one tried to rob the book stand after that.

They were fourteen. He stood in the shadows of the temple, praying for a family, or something to eat, or a friend. Annabeth kneeled at the foot of the great altar, praying to Athena for a chance to prove herself, to let her be seen as a warrior or a scholar, someone respected, someone important, instead of a girl. His eyes widened at the glowing owl that appeared above her head. Shocked gasps sounded at the mark, naming her the chosen daughter of Athena. People around her stepped back, frightened of her connection to the gods, astounded Athena had chosen a mere girl. She ran out of the temple in tears. He waited until the crowd cleared, and found her by a shrine on the hillside. He held a hand out.

"Hi. I'm Percy."

All of Percy's prayers were answered.

They were sixteen. Annabeth had just come of age. She had been chosen to design a grand monument to the gods, the most ambitious project the city had ever undertaken. There was a celebration in the market under summer stars. Food and wine filled tables, and lyre music floated through the air. He pulled Annabeth into the center of the square, and they spun across the cobblestones. Her curls flew out behind her, and the sound of her laughter stayed in his ears for days.

They were eighteen. She dressed in fine clothes, and carried armfuls of scrolls to the building site, watching her designs become structures with a hawk's eyes. He watched her leave her family's shop before dawn and return well after dusk. He couldn't help but rise when she did, listening contentedly to the sounds of her humming as she got readily across the room they still shared, the same room he'd been offered a bed in the day he'd offered her his hand at the temple. At night, he stayed awake until she got home, waiting to share a platter of olives and cheese and their stories of the day.

They were twenty. Annabeth's monument, the largest temple ever built to the gods, stood, marble gleaming, on the hillside. He ran beside her through the halls of the temple, hands clasped together and feet flying like they were children again. They stopped in an empty rotunda when their legs tired, Annabeth gazing at the mosaic ceilings in wonderment, Percy gazing at Annabeth. He saw her head turn to look at him, saw her start to form words, saw them die on her tongue. He reached a hand up, tentatively, and threaded his fingers through her brilliantly gold hair.

When she kissed him, he thought that no temple built could compare to the beauty of her, in that moment.

They were twenty-six. He had married Annabeth five years ago. All of Greece had come to see the amazing feat that was the temple Annabeth had created. She had been asked to design courthouses, amphitheaters — even entire cities. Her prayers from all those years ago had been answered.

They were twenty-eight. Tremors shook the hillside. People poured out of the temple, the polished pillars trembling with the shaking earth. Percy ran through the crowd, searching for Annabeth. He seized a man running by him, whom he recognized as one of Annabeth's advisors, and demanded to know where Annabeth was.

The man told him Annabeth refused to leave the temple. She had said that if the temple was going down, she was going down with it.

Percy sprinted up the rocky slope, falling as a massive tremor shook the hill.

He watched as the pillars split, falling to the earth.

He watched as the ceiling collapsed, burying the temple in tons of chiseled rock.

He was sixty. He brought a platter of olives and cheese to the hillside, outside the broken remains of the temple, and whispered what he had done that day to the wind.

The people who lived in the city didn't question him. Percy ate on the hillside every night. He had for thirty two years.

When the children passing by the hill asked him why he ate outside, alone, he told them that he wasn't alone. He was with Annabeth.


End file.
